


Convenience

by Miss14



Series: Roommates [2]
Category: All Elite Wrestling, Being The Elite (Web Series), Professional Wrestling
Genre: Convenience Store, M/M, Other, Swearing, argument, dumb boys, snacks, talk of drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21511888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss14/pseuds/Miss14
Summary: Chuck Taylor and Orange Cassidy can't visit a convenience store for a snack run without an argument breaking out.
Relationships: Chuck Taylor/Orange Cassidy
Series: Roommates [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545823
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Convenience

**Author's Note:**

> Here's part two of my "Roommates" series. Big thanks go out to orangecassidys on tumblr. He was kind enough to be my beta reader/test subject for this fic and lets me dump all my Chuck/Orange thoughts on him, so I'm endlessly grateful for that as well.

**_Ding Dong_ **

The familiar cookie-cutter entrance chime of every convenience store in existence rings as Orange and Chuck stroll through the door of their local gas station. Snack runs like this happen several times a week for the pair, more often than not around midnight. Orange drives for loosely ninety percent of their excursions since Chuck is habitually at least some degree of inebriated by that hour, therefore craving unhealthy snacks. It’s no problem for Orange, he rather enjoys a late-night trip with his friend and truth be told, as partners and now roommates they’ve become quite the pair of Gas&Dash connoisseurs. Stopping at a convenience store is inevitable when traveling. Chuck and Orange love exploring different convenience joints in their treks across the country. Their current stop isn’t a top fave of either man but is closest to their house, which means they frequent it weekly. 

“Hello. How are you tonight?” Without looking up the young man behind the register offers up a sluggish, insincere greeting. Orange waves his general direction with matched energy as Chuck shoves past him, offering the kid a courtesy salute while he rushes towards the back. 

“Hey man, I gotta take a wicked piss. I drank a fuckton of beer before we came here.” Orange lets out a signature laugh as he watches Chuck’s needy jog towards the restroom, his friend clad in his usual nighttime attire of baggy sweatpants and worn Fire Ant t-shirt.

“Whatever. Hurry up.” Orange observes the clerk ring up a woman’s purchase without so much as one instance of eye contact, in a hurry to put his nose back in the book he’s got perched atop the cash register. With a disapproving shake of his head, Orange shuffles off towards the back aisle to select late-night snacks, not certain what he’s craving just yet but sure once he finds it he’ll know. While meandering across the store Orange ponders the conundrum of gas station floors. The places always smell as if someone’s just mopped but somehow the floors remain permanently sticky. He isn’t sure how this can be but concedes that the truth of the matter is he may never solve this grand mystery in his lifetime. 

An overhead light flickers weakly as Orange turns the corner leading to the meat snack district. Slim Jims? No, too greasy. Beef Jerky? Never a bad choice by any stretch of the imagination but which flavor? A bag of teriyaki flavor in one hand and a stick of peppered in the other, Orange weighs his options. Ultimately he decides to get both, remembering Chuck will scarf down any leftovers if he changes his mind. He peruses multiple sections of snack foods, indecisively browsing and completely unaware several minutes have gone by already and Chuck’s been shopping as well. 

“I was looking for you, bitch! Whatcha got?” Chuck returns, a six-pack of beer tucked under one arm and several one-liter bottles of water curled inside the other. “You get me something yet?”

Orange shoots his friend an icy glare, shocked he would even suggest such a thing. “You know we can’t agree. I don’t pick for you anymore. Remember Chicago?” Orange recalls their fight down a random chip aisle in Illinois very clearly, the whole thing stemming from Chuck calling him a dumbass for liking regular Fritos corn chips over the Chili Cheese flavor. 

The taller man has to think it over a moment before it comes to him. “Oh yeah! Dumbass.” Chuck laughs and gives Orange a shoulder check, gently shoving his friend while zoning in on a row of Planter’s products. “Hey, you like cashews or peanuts Orange?”

While brushing off his shoulder Orange mulls over the question. “Both. I dunno. Like cashews better I guess? Just salted. No bullshit.”

“What?” It’s only the first ‘this or that’ discussion of their trip tonight and Chuck already sounds outraged by Orange’s response. “Honey roasted! HONEY ROASTED!” He tosses a bag of flavored cashews Orange’s way as he repeats himself again, almost as if reciting a mantra. 

“Whatever. Too sweet. Can’t taste the nuts.”

“Heh. Taste the nuts. Gay!” Adolescent Chuck Taylor makes a special guest appearance to taunt his friend, earning an exaggerated eye roll as a reward for his comment. 

“I said whatever. Pick something else so we can go.” Orange desperately needs to change the subject before this turns into another knock down drag out snack food squabble. “Gonna get some Swedish Fish. You wanna share?”

“Nah man, they suck.” Orange stares a hole through his companion, shoving the large bag back on its peg and selecting a smaller size. “What? Don’t look at me like that. They’re not the good kind of chewy. It’s a hard chew! After a handful, it isn’t enjoyable to keep eating them. Too much jaw work. I need a soft chew. And anyway they get stuck in your teeth way too easily. No thanks.”

“I’ll give you a soft chew.” Oranges mutters under his breath. Instead of inciting an argument he tosses a pack of strawberry Hi-Chew at his friend’s head, probably much more vigorously than necessary. “Here, Mr. Delicate Mouth.”

“What’d you say to me? Fucker! Watch where you’re...oh hey...they got green apple flavor over there? Those are the best!” Orange crouches down to grab a couple packs of Chuck’s requested flavor from the bottom shelf, adding them to his snack pile. 

“Whatever. We done?” 

“Nah I need some chocolate. Or some cookies! Or donuts? Ooh! A honey bun.” Orange sighs and trails behind Chuck, his indecisive friend wandering off like a small child in a toy store. Orange is painfully aware the longer they linger in the store the more likely it is they’ll end up bickering like an old married couple. He just wants to go home to the comfort of pajamas and junk food. Chuck consistently takes way too long to accomplish literally anything. A quick trip out can never be just a quick trip. Chuck’s especially distracted and waffles to no end when presented with multiple options, Orange knows this to be a fact since Chuck can’t even stay loyal to one brand of beer. Visiting a bar together is torture for Orange since it takes Chuck fifteen minutes to so much as choose what to drink. Fifty percent of the time Chuck simply surrenders entirely and orders the same thing Orange does. “Orange which is better? Iced honey bun or regular?” Chuck shoots off another loaded question while eye-fucking a display of Hostess goodies. 

“Regular. Fingers get less messy without icing. Better cinnamon notes.”

“You fucking asshole.” Chuck shakes his head slowly, clearly appalled by Orange’s preference. “ _Oh, look at me I don’t wanna get my fingers dirty!_ Iced buns are delicious! They’re so sweet and good. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” 

“I know I’m gonna leave your ass here. Grab your buns and let’s go!” Orange stifles an exasperated chuckle as Chuck curls his lip and distorts his expression in outrage at the threat of being left. 

“You wouldn’t.” Chuck snatches up a honey bun violently and adds it to his collection, still sneering Orange’s way as he reaches for a pack of Zingers. “I suppose next you’ll tell me chocolate isn’t the best flavor of Zinger? Sometimes I feel like I don’t even know you, man!”

Orange chooses to ignore this, unwilling to feed Chuck any extra fuel by informing him raspberry flavor Zingers are far and away the superior variety. To break away from the tension between them he turns the corner, wandering along yet another aisle of snack foods. He stops to pick up a package of Soft Batch Keebler cookies, one of his absolute favorites and one he knows Chuck enjoys from past experience. Despite his friend’s dickish behavior he always shares, no matter how intense their disagreements become. “Gotta get chips. No chips yet.” Chuck announces, his Converse squeaking loudly as he shuffles off in the direction of the salty goodness he craves. Orange groans laboriously, begrudgingly following his friend as he heads back across the store. 

_“Don’t ask any questions. Don’t ask any questions. Just pick something for the love of all that is holy! Just get a bag. Don’t ask any questions. Please please please…”_ Orange’s pleading inner dialogue is rudely interrupted when Chuck, of course, poses a question. 

“Okay, okay, okay… the million-dollar question here, then I’ll let all this go. What is the best flavor of chips?”

“No. Don’t want to. Just pick one and let’s leave.” Orange is putting his foot down. He’s endured exactly enough of Chuck’s snack food quiz game for the night and knows this could be the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back if discussed at any more length. 

“S’just a question. Which one?” Chuck’s goading him now, trying his hardest to look innocent while motioning at the chip racks. He knows just as well as Orange they’re always on opposite sides of the snack fence but seems willing to risk their friendship just to elicit an answer, so Orange humors him. 

“Fine. Honestly? It depends on my mood. But first choice off the top of my head...?” Chuck stares down Orange, eyes gradually coming to focus solely on the smaller man’s lips. He’s holding his breath as if waiting for Orange’s answer to this trivial question is like waiting on a doctor to read him life-altering test results. “...salt and vinegar.”

Even with his arms full of convenience store wares, Chuck manages to flex and curl both hands into fists, jaw clenching as he releases a dissatisfied grunt. “What did you say?”

Orange already knows how this ends. Chuck will get pissy and storm away like a dejected lover. He’ll retreat to the car until Orange checks out and they’ll drive home silently. Neither one of them will budge until after they arrive home, stubborn as they both are. Orange draws in a massive breath, shifting his collected goodies to his left arm so he can shove his right hand deep in his pocket, a silent act of defiance. He steels himself for what lies ahead and repeats his answer, this time pronouncing every syllable sharply so it really digs in Chuck’s craw. “S A L T _and_ V I N E G A R.”

“You dirty bitch.” Chuck hisses through clenched teeth. “B A R B E C U E.” Chuck offers up his answer by rustling a bag of Lay’s at Orange as if he’s shaking a red cape at a bull. 

“You’re wrong.”

“You’re wrong, bitch! Salt and vinegar? Yeah, if I wanna destroy the roof of my mouth and murder my tongue! You’re a wackjob Orange, I swear. What a dumbass. Barbecue! Barbecue chips are the best! What, you don’t wanna get your fingers dirty again? Fuckin’ pussy…” Chuck continues his abuse laden, obscenity ridden tirade as he storms past Orange, stomping his way towards the register. “Now I’m ready to go!” He dumps his plethora of items onto the counter with a thud and fishes a five-dollar bill out of his pocket, practically barking instructions to the vapid kid waiting on them. “Gimme a five dollar scratcher kid, I’m feeling lucky! Here smartass, pay for my stuff! M’goin to the car!” Chuck shoves a twenty against Orange’s chest and swipes a penny from the take one leave one dish before storming off for good, pushing out a string of exaggerated huffs and puffs every step of the way.

“Sorry, dude. He’s a little dramatic when it comes to snacks.” Orange offers the clerk a half-hearted apology which is met with a shrug somehow even more sluggish than any he’s ever mustered while in character. Orange is convinced this kid really hates his job. Or maybe he’s just seen one too many customers like Chuck today? Either way Orange ends their exchange with a lukewarm “Have a good night, man.” once their transaction is complete. The kid grunts and nods with the most emotion he’s shown since they first entered, the door chiming once more to signal Orange’s exit. 

Orange strolls towards his car at a pace even more lackadaisical than usual, he knows precisely what awaits him once he arrives there so taking his sweet time is of no concern. From several feet away he can see Chuck hunched over angrily in the passenger seat, arms crossed so painfully hard against his chest Orange nearly laughs at the sight but thinks better of it. Chuck loathes being laughed at when he’s this irate. Orange climbs in the driver’s seat, reaching behind him to deposit their bags of snacks on the floor in the back. While it’s not a considerably long trip back home Orange knows it’ll seem like forever since his friend is still fuming as he starts up the car and drives away from the scene of their quarrel. The ride home is hushed to say the least, Orange offering Chuck a glance once they’re at the first red light of their journey. Chuck’s not having any of it. Immediately he whips his head towards the window, folding his arms in tighter yet while releasing a strained harrumph. Orange assesses the situation, choosing to take the high road. He unearths his bag of Swedish Fish and eats a handful to keep his mouth occupied instead of letting loose a comment he’ll immediately regret. 

It isn’t until several blocks later at the next stoplight that Chuck decides to unfold his arms. Orange is quietly hopeful this is a sign he’s moderately less cross than he was earlier. Gas station penny gripped between his thumb and forefinger tightly, Chuck scratches ferociously at the lottery ticket the clerk picked out for him. Orange watches him scratch so wildly he’s certain Chuck will gouge right through the paper it’s printed on and straight into his leg. “Won’t know if you won or not if you keep scratching like that.” Orange warns him softly, Chuck still violently scraping the edge of his coin into the poor thing.

“Thanks for the advice, Orange.” Chuck eventually comments with a sneer, rolling down the passenger side window just far enough to discard his ticket out into the street. He wipes his hand across his thigh to clean off excess lottery shavings and slowly turns towards Orange finally, heaving a mighty dramatic sigh. “Guess I don’t need some stupid lottery ticket to tell me I’m a loser. I already knew that.” 

Orange frowns, disturbed by his friend’s self-deprecating comment. Just that easily Orange turns soft. Inside he forgives Chuck and lets go of any irritation or resentment he may have been holding onto in the wake of their disagreement. Orange grimaces harder as Chuck’s words play on repeat in his head; he completely abhorred hearing one of the people he was closest to in this world talk about themselves in such a manner, Chuck in particular. Orange comes to the conclusion he can’t wait until they arrive home for one of them to initiate a truce. He has to act now.

Chuck’s so busy glowering he doesn’t notice Orange reach back into their massive haul of snacks and fish something out. “Know what’ll make you feel better?” Orange’s query is laced with trepidation, not entirely sure if Chuck is as ready to make nice as he is. One hand steadies the steering wheel while the other is busy freeing a green apple-flavored Hi-Chew from its wrapper as Chuck contemplates the question. 

“Whiskey.” Chuck scoffs finally, again crossing his arms defiantly. 

“Nah.” Orange uses a four-way stop as his opportunity to put forth a peace offering. Chuck begrudgingly shifts his head towards Orange indolently, there are no other cars at this stop so he’s unsure why they’re aren’t moving. Orange turns and reaches out tentatively, presenting Chuck his favorite flavor of chewy candy with a gentle request. “Open?” Chuck accepts the invitation, his face softening immediately at the sight of his friend sheepishly offering up a piece of candy as a symbol of peace. He recognizes this for what it is, a non-verbalized apology on Orange’s part and Chuck is endlessly grateful for it. He certainly didn’t want to be the first one to crack this time. Chuck smiles appreciatively and parts his lips to receive his friend’s sweet offering. Orange is equally thankful this gesture signals the end of the tension between the two. He carefully feeds Chuck the piece of candy between his fingers, meticulously placing it inside Chuck’s open lips and onto his tongue. He’s unexpectedly stirred yet does his best to act unfazed when Chuck’s bottom lip softly grazes his fingertips. He’s unsure if Chuck meant to brush his lips against his fingers or it was unintentional. Either way, it’s got Orange reeling fast. The ends of his digits tingle wildly as he draws his hand back from Chuck’s mouth and towards the steering wheel. He could accept that hand-feeding his friend candy was somewhat intimate, but not something they hadn’t done on multiple occasions. This lip to hand contact though? That comes out of nowhere and Orange is in no way prepared for it. He keeps telling himself he’s certain it meant nothing at all, just a coincidence, but a coincidence that had no right to be as erotic as it had been. That’s not something he can worry about too much at the moment, he stores it away for a much, much later date.

Orange concentrates keenly to maintain composure while he continues driving home, he can’t fathom cracking and letting his face reveal what he’s thinking. His concern is completely unwarranted because Chuck is so enveloped in chomping on his chewy candy he’s entirely oblivious to the fact that Orange is shaken up by their brief contact. “Hey? Know what?” Orange decides he has to say something to initiate conversation between the two, the best distraction he can think of to help put a stop to his current train of thought post lip graze. 

“Whassat?” Chuck asks while pushing Hi-Chew off the roof of his mouth with his tongue.

“Barbecue chips aren’t so bad.” Orange caves, less worried about his preferences and more concerned about lifting his friend’s spirits back up. 

“Well duh! That’s what I was trying to tell you!” With that, he finally unfurls his arms, one final gesture to signal the end of their fight. Chuck can’t help but feel slightly guilty now that he’s had time to replay what the two men were arguing about in the first place, so he offers up his own roundabout apology to Orange. “M’kay, I guess if we’re talking like adults now, Swedish Fish aren’t that bad. I was just being dramatic.” He pauses momentarily, observing the oddly stoic expression on Orange’s face as he concentrates on the road. “Feed me one.” Chuck asks of his friend, leaning across the console with his lips parted even wider this time. 

“You have _such_ a big mouth, dude.” Orange accentuates each word with a laugh, using his shoulder to gently push Chuck back towards the passenger seat.  
“You have no idea.” Chuck chortles suggestively, wagging his eyebrows so hard Orange bursts out in a fit of laughter. “Now fish me!” Just that statement alone prolongs Orange’s laughter exponentially. Thankfully they’re nearly home, his tittering only subsiding as he pulls in their driveway. Chuck’s still leaning towards his friend, mouth even more agape now in anticipation of Orange sharing with him. “Fish!”

“Here. If it’ll get you to shut your mouth…” Orange trails off as he picks a fish out of the bag in his lap and for a second time tonight prepares to feed his friend a sweet treat. This time Orange is exceedingly conscious of where Chuck’s lips end and when to let go of the little red gummy between his fingers, trying his best to avoid a repeat of last time if for nothing more than his own peace of mind. Chuck is still utterly oblivious just like always and shows no grace whatsoever as he lunges towards Orange’s hand to claim the candy being offered up. With absolutely no shame Chuck grabs Orange’s wrist to steady it and exaggeratedly closes his mouth over his friend’s thumb and forefinger. Now Chuck’s got not only the Swedish Fish but Orange’s fingertips entirely in his mouth. Orange is nothing short of horrified when Chuck gently sucks at the candy in his grip, encouraging him to free it. “C’mon dude!” Mercifully, the contact is considerably less sensual than last time and Orange is equally mortified and thankful all at once as he draws his fingers from his friend’s mouth.

“What?” Chuck asks coyly, watching intently as Orange frowns at the sight of his now wet fingertips. 

“Gross.” Orange uses the sleeve of Chuck’s well-worn shirt to wipe his fingers clean. Chuck just smiles gleefully, little red fish still between his front teeth. 

“You loved it.” Chuck leans close and murmurs out those three words in a hushed tone Orange isn’t prepared for. Immediately he’s struck directly in the chest with the harsh realization that Chuck knows exactly what he did and did it intentionally. He sets this aside temporarily, unable to muster up a way to start a conversation or so much as articulate what he’s thinking properly. Maybe one day he would casually mention the fact that fireworks shot up his arm when Chuck brushed his lips against his fingers, but today was not that day. 

“Shut up. Let’s go inside. You can carry everything since you slobbered on me.” Orange announces as they both exit his car. 

“Whatever.” Is the only retort Chuck can manage, his face already inside the bag of snacks. “You’re sharing those cookies with me, right?” Chuck punctuates his loaded question by smacking Orange’s ass cheek a tad harder than he normally, playfully would. 

Orange scowls, pausing halfway up the driveway to recover, “Yeah.” the only response he can assemble as he watches Chuck bound into the house, his childlike energy back once again. “Yeah.” He mumbles once more, this time decidedly more softly and only to himself. 


End file.
